


Watching From Afar

by stillskies



Category: Nana
Genre: POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillskies/pseuds/stillskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Performance is a drug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching From Afar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aiwritingfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiwritingfic/gifts).



> Once upon a time, I used to do holiday drabbles. This is one of them. From **2009**. That I never got around to posting. Uh. Hope you like it? ♥

You crave the adrenaline of the stage and the lights and sheer energy of a performance. Crave it so much that it scares you. Crave it almost as much as you crave Nana. Nana – who is all mixed up in your head with energy and sex and music.

Beautiful, broken Nana who turns only to you in her weakness. Only you know how shattered she is, how hopelessly beyond repair her soul is. You watch her – watch her try to put the puzzle back together, watch as she doesn’t realize that there are pieces missing. Pieces that she needs that _he_ took when he left for Tokyo.

You refuse to acknowledge the broken parts that _he_ created in you. Refuse to acknowledge that Nana can’t perform without _him_ next to her. You try to recreate the feeling; you drum and drum and drum until the calluses on your hands bleed and blend into the wood of the sticks.

It isn’t the same – it isn’t the same without her voice and _his_ guitar and the lights.

Nobuo flits between you, the tentative link between _him_ and us, and you almost feel sorry for the burden the kid is bearing until, suddenly, he isn’t.

_He_ has nothing to say to you and Nana breaks a little more. Nobuo watches helplessly, guitar in hand while you tell them that you’re done.

You still crave the adrenaline rush. You still crave all of the things that _he_ could have given you, but has chosen to give to _them_ instead. You crave the sound of Nana’s voice in your ear, the light touch of her fingers as she passes you on her way to _him_.

You watch as he towers on the charts, always off to the side, as though he doesn't belong. You think that he does have a place he belongs but he left it for _them_ , for the lights of Tokyo and the voice of the girl you almost-but-never-quite had.

You still watch over Nana. She still comes to you, broken and determined, throat raw from singing and crying and screaming. You encourage her as you memorize law and precedent and turn your eyes away from what she offers.

From what she is.

Because she is the stage and the lights and the power. She is the adrenaline you crave.

So you study and study and study. You push away the memory of performing and your drums begin to gather dust. He calls you occasionally – to check up on Nana, to tell you how things are going, to pass on messages from Reira – but you keep the conversations short and to the point.

Performance is a drug, one you and everyone around you is addicted to. And as much as you want to break free, you still crave it.


End file.
